To Find Myself
by LeClearestBlueJelly
Summary: Hermione finds herself through meddling with time. Only, she doesn't find herself, but rather, others who bear an uncanny resemblance to her and pledge their allegiance to different houses. Now, it's up to them to find the reason for their existence and meeting under odd circumstances. an AU-ish, time travel fic inspired by my love for Orphan Black


**DISCLAIMER:** Anything you recognize is NOT mine-I'm only playing with J.K. Rowling's awesome creations in a sandbox.

* * *

 **2 September 1995**

 **6:37 AM**

Hermione felt angry.

She felt angry and ticked off at the very fact that she felt angry this early in the morning. But of course, you could leave it to Ron to find the tiniest reason to set her off, quietly scolding him while red-faced with frustration. She scowled at the memory of that morning.

"'Mione, d'you think you could cover for me for patrol duty tonight?" he had asked. Hermione awoke, dazed to find him before her, still half-asleep and yawning between sentences.

"Whatever _for_ , Ron?" She sat up to rub the sleep from her eyes before glancing at her watch which read 6:19. "And why've you come so early?"

"Doesn't matter—the point is, can you?"

" _Merlin_ , Ron!" she snapped. "We've not been at school even two days, and you're already neglecting your prefect responsibilities? It's too _early_ for this!"

At that, he'd told her his reason for not wanting to join her on prefect patrol duty that night, and Hermione had nearly exploded.

" _Exploding Snap?!_ You're going to jeopardize you position as Prefect for a game of _Exploding Snap_?"

A rematch, he had tried to explain—just a few hours to try and win back his 52 galleons from Seamus, who played quite the hustler, in his opinion. Then he tried to get her to understand: Dumbledore wouldn't notice him off patrol for one night. And it'd only be tonight, he had sworn. Then after that, their exchange veered toward Hermione being too "uptight," then her saying that it'd be nice for him to actually be responsible for once, to his response of: "Well, yeah—I _am_ responsible; I asked you to cover for me tonight, didn't I?" and finally, to her saying that his absence would reflect on herself, so her own Prefect title could be endangered, and that _dammit_ , couldn't he just _listen_ to what she had to say this time?

Then suddenly, Harry was thrown into their words—how _he_ always listened to her and whatnot (but not _always_ , as Ron roughly pointed out)—and it took just about a minute for the conversation to turn into "Harry's the better choice for Prefect," with both sides knowing it but choosing not to voice it.

They were only broken apart from their heated exchange when Pavarti Patil appeared behind Ron and asked timidly, "Hey, d'you think you two can keep it down a little? It's only six-thirty, and it's Saturday, so…"

"Yes, Pavarti," Hermione said tiredly. "Sorry about us, but Ron was just leaving." She gave him a pointed look, and he nodded once before heading out, with Pavarti shuffling back to her bed.

Still fuming, Hermione had no longer felt the need to sleep and quickly got dressed before going downstairs to the library.

She was headed there now, briskly walking the nearly-deserted hallways, for nearly no one was awake this early on the weekend, but as she turned a corner and chanced a look out a window for a view of the vast expanse of lawn, now losing its vibrant green as autumn took its hold of the campus, she decided that the crisp, morning air would do her mind good, hopefully clearing up the remaining anger she still felt after Ron, so she went to walk the school grounds.

 _I'll never tire of this_ , Hermione thought as she always did when taking in her school's landscape. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself to ward off the cold, then thought it better to cast a heating charm as her gaze lifted up toward the grey sky to see a flock of birds flying south for the winter. Fleetingly, the image of the Forest of Dean from her winter holiday there with her Mum and Dad crossed her mind, and she wondered if it'd still look the same if she went there again this winter—snowy banks surrounding the river, bare fir and evergreen trees covering the place, all of it looking very much like a picturesque Muggle postcard she'd send to Ron for kicks.

Hermione sighed. Now that her initial ill-will towards Ron had fizzled out while she walked in the cold, guilt and the tiniest smidgeon of annoyance remained. She knew he _did_ care about his Prefect title, even if she had quickly disagreed earlier, and she knew he wanted to make his parents proud, but then he made the issue personal by calling her "uptight" and going on about how she never understood what he tried to tell her (a load of rubbish, if you asked her). And she shot right back that her position was vulnerable, because if Ron didn't show up, Dumbledore would think her irresponsible for not getting Ron to do his job, then she'd be unfit to be Gryffindor Prefect, and—

 _Stop._

She felt that mental slap to the face, a sort of "instinctive mechanism" that she prided herself on when things got carried away in her mind. It jarred her and brought her back to focus.

 _So where was I? Oh—right. I wouldn't be Prefect anymore, so I'd just be throwing away the prospect and my_ dream _of being Head Girl!_

Her gloved hands shook at the idea, and her mind began to wander again. _All my hard work—_ everything _I've done—would be for nothing._ Her hands clenched, balling into fists as she fought to even entertain the idea in her mind. She rebelliously stuck her hands into the inner pockets of her cloak, immediately surprised at the bump of something she felt in the left pocket. Curious, Hermione fished around for the object and pulled it out, laying it onto her right hand.

Its metallic gleam struck her in the eye as it caught the light, and she grinned at it.

Her Time Turner was just as she remembered it from third year; the fine gold chain and even finer hourglass pendant that she admired were still in pristine condition, if not shinier and more polished than when she last used it. Its last use, of course, was to save Sirius and Buckbeak, and before that, she'd used it daily to get to all her lessons, many rather advanced courses for her age and level—yet much more accomplishments she would be "throwing away" in her quest to become Head Girl.

A wry smile forced itself onto her face as she remembered how chaotic and emotionally-draining that year was; and yet, she secretly decided to keep her Time Turner, in case it should ever "come in handy" as Harry once mentioned to her discreetly. But no matter, she'd felt the need to hide the thing in case Professor McGonagall should ever come asking her to return it. Of course, no one would know that she took it back from her Head of House a few days after she returned it, right before the school year was to end, and that she carefully snatched it from McGonagall's desk when out running an errand, but she felt drawn to the special necklace, and she felt strange without its weight around her neck or away from it.

She spun the chain around and around her finger, immediately feeling much more content than she had been earlier, even feeling compelled to hum and whistle the school song as she walked the well-worn path to Hagrid's. About five minutes later, she came upon one of the larger lakes that were littered across the school, and she didn't hesitate in walking toward it, since she wondered if some of the exotic fish Hagrid left there last year had spawned.

After climbing the rocky terrain surrounding the lake, Hermione stood over the body of water to hopefully see the colorful fish swimming around. However, the water near the rocks was rather murky, so she tried moving closer to the water's edge to get a closer look.

In hindsight, Hermione should've known she shouldn't have been spinning the Time Turner's chain around her finger (and she'd even admit it looked rather childish), even if McGonagall said wearing the darn thing around your neck was the only way to use it. She should've known that the rocks were slippery and unstable, as Hagrid warned her on more than one occasion. And lastly, she should've known not to let her guard down, even if it appeared that only she occupied the surrounding area.

Several things happened when Hermione tried to better her vantage point of the lake. In a split-second:

1\. A force so strong that it couldn't have been wind (and to this day, Hermione will swear that she felt two hands on her back do the deed) pushed her, sending her careening off-balance.

2\. A few rocks underneath her shifted, and she plunged forward, slipping even more on the moss-covered rocks, to make matters worse.

3\. Her right arm, with the hand that clutched the Time Turner, jerked backwards, as she tried to grab ahold of something, anything that would keep her from falling into the lake and bashing her head open on the rocks.

4\. The hourglass held in the Time Turner felt inclined to _spin_ on the account that Hermione fell forward and the pendant jerked backwards. It spun not once, not twice, and not thrice, but enough times to make it look like a blur as it spun rapidly and for many, many times.

5\. The only coherent thought to enter Hermione's mind was: "Oh, bugger."

And as quickly as the world blurred around her, signaling to Hermione that she, indeed, went backwards in time, everything froze, Hermione felt herself pitch way over to the right, and she fell a good meter onto the floor on her back. When she sat up and the dizziness went away, she found herself on the ground at least ten meters away from the lake, the Hogwarts castle a little ways in the distance.

For a second, Hermione began to doubt that she'd actually time-travelled—from her spot on the ground, nothing seemed to have changed around her, and even the weather felt exactly the same—but she knew she should head back to the castle anyway, for help if she needed it. So she slowly got up and dusted herself off.

Then the shock of "I've travelled back in time, and I don't know _when_ I am" hit her in the chest, and Hermione suddenly felt herself running back to the school for answers.

 _Dumbledore_ has _to be here. He_ has _to be._

Racing into the cobblestone courtyard and into the open corridors, she noticed the crowds of students headed to class (all of whom she did not recognize), and from the looks of it, it seemed to be the first one of the day, with the sun just peeking over the distant hills to signal the morning.

 _Dumbledore must be here, but where is he?_

Hermione thought to check the Headmaster's office, but she'd have to guess the password, and she certainly knew Peeves would rat her out to the teachers for being out of class. She then thought of the Transfiguration classroom, since she knew he'd taught that before becoming Headmaster, but even if he was the Transfiguration professor, he'd have a class now, and she couldn't very well barge in and ask for help getting home.

So, she found that it would be best to hide until the break between classes for her opportunity to speak with him. Hermione began to weave in and out of the other students, all the while, thinking of her choices of bathrooms to take refuge in. The one near the Great Hall would be most visited, and Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—well, if she still haunted it—would be deserted, but Myrtle might tell on her, and the one nearest—

Out of the throng of students, a long, spindly hand reached out and suddenly wrenched itself around Hermione's forearm and spun her around forcefully to meet the worried eyes of a tall and gangly boy whose shaggy, brown hair reminded her distinctly of Harry. He sported robes with a yellow collar and tie.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?"

Hermione gaped; she imagined her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Do I—I mean, I don't—"

"Bloody hell, Paige! Don't tell me you forgot about our Charms project. Our presentation's _today_ , remember?" The boy spoke with an air of annoyance and frustration as he finally released her from his grip to pinch the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, the boy found Hermione staring at him blankly. "You know what—we don't have time for this. Come on, let's get to class." Then he grabbed her arm again with his iron grip and practically steered her toward Defense Against the Dark Arts. Only when he glanced at her after sitting her down next to him that the boy finally asked, "What're you wearing?"

Hermione, who'd been busy watching unfamiliar Hogwarts alumni interact in the same classroom she'd had her DADA lessons in, acknowledged him once more and looked down at her robes. They looked fine, even for having journeyed more than a few years back in time, so she frowned, confused. "These are my _robes_. Nothing's wrong with them."

The boy scoffed. "Are you sure? Maybe you and Delia switched 'em by accident. Look—" he fixed her red tie and nodded at her matching collar, "you're wearing _Gryffindor_ robes. You should change back later." He paused to scrutinize her even more. "And what happened to your hair and your eyes? You haven't been 'experimenting' again, have you?"

"Er—no, I haven't." _Experimenting? What does_ that _mean?_

He narrowed his eyes at her before breaking into a grin. "Liar."

 _What?_

"You should change your hair and eyes back later, too—I swear, you look like my sister."

He looked at her, and Hermione realized the truth in his words. Their hair was the same shade of chestnut brown; their eyes looked as the same pools of honey reflected in each other.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Hermione, not really knowing what else to say to him and willing class to start as quickly as possible (partly for the selfish reason of wanting to _learn_ ,even in her situation). Then she noticed her "friend" beside her, quill in hand and ready to take notes.

Like her, he always flipped to a new paper in his leather-bound journal and dated the page. She held her breath.

2 September, wrote his admirable penmanship, and Hermione leaned closer the smallest bit to see the year: 1963.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

 _1963? Why, that's—that's_ 34 _years back! Practically_ one third _of a century…Merlin, what have I done?_

* * *

 **Meanwhile, at some time, in some place**

The plump, red-haired witch stood with purpose in the kitchen, attempting to make shepherd's pie without any wand-waving or anything of the like.

She bent down to set it in the oven when a wave of _something_ washed over her, and she _just_ had the sense to set her meal on a nearby table before hitching up her yellow dress and running.

Down the corridor, up the stairs, and to the second door on the right, she huffed and puffed to get to him, not even stopping to think of calling out. The witch finally reached his study and pushed open the door to stand there, breathless and red in the face before him.

"What? Whassamatter?" he asked, a little annoyed she disturbed him when he was sketching out designs for yet another sword of his.

She swallowed. "It's happening," said the witch. "I can feelit. I don't know _how_ , but—"

He immediately dropped what he was doing to look at her. "Are you certain?"

" _Yes_ ," she insisted as her heart thumped wildly in her chest. "There's no other way; they must've—I dunno, interacted with each other, or—"

"Has yet to interact with her," the burly wizard before her finished. He stroked his red beard thoughtfully and frowned at the witch. "Well, I suppose it's time to tell the other two. Call them over, will you? I have to think." He said the last part quietly to himself, but she had bolted out the door before he'd even finished talking.

The wizard sighed. _Well, here goes nothing._

* * *

 **2 September 1963**

 **9:44 AM**

After Defense (which she didn't find so difficult, even for a sixth-year class), Hermione found herself practically sprinting to the exit so that her "friend," whose name she discovered was Jepson Swindlehurst, wouldn't grab her arm and lead her away again.

She also discovered that her supposed name was Paige Eldridge through getting called on by the professor (though, the professor called on her less times than she was accustomed to) and that her and Jepson's over-the-summer Charms project was due at the end of the day, the very last class, and that Jepson really worked himself up about the two of them doing well on it, since apparently, both him and Paige did "rubbish" work at charms.

But Hermione's mind still reeled over how Jepson genuinely believed her and Paige "one and the same." She stubbornly thought that "delusional" accurately described Jepson.

 _There's no way I could look like someone from the 60s! Well, there's the chance she and I could have an uncanny resemblance to each other, but_ never _will I be an copy, or version of someone else, or vice versa._

 _I am original. I am one of a kind_ , Hermione insisted, repeating her parents' words to herself.

 _I am only_ myself _, and only am_ I _myself._

She continued reciting her mantra while she wandered around the castle in the break they had after the morning classes. Her feet took her away randomly, aiming to put as much distance between her and Jepson as possible. She went outside for a spell, then back inside and underground, trying to keep from others who might mistake her for Paige as well.

Only when Hermione rounded the corner to pass the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room down near the kitchens did she bump into another person, literally knocking the person over and toppling the tall pile of books in his/her hands to the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't see where I was going," Hermione said kindly, not even thinking twice before bending down to help pick up the books.

"S'alright, been told I've got two left feet for a reason," said the person—female, a sixth-year, Hermione gathered from her voice and textbooks. The girl bent down as well to grab her other books off the floor, her back to Hermione as she stood and straightened.

"Well," said the girl, taking the books out of Hermione's hands before looking up at her face, "thanks for…"

The other girl drifted off as she finally got a good look at Hermione's face and Hermione did the same.

 _It's like looking in a mirror._

Hermione blinked at the girl before her: they shared the exact same face, same bright and bewildered doe eyes, same curved lips open in surprise—and the similarities stopped. They both had wild, curly hair that ended a little ways past the shoulder, with the girl's a vibrant shade of red that it couldn't possibly be natural, as opposed to Hermione's light-brown locks, and the girl's golden eyes, contrasting with Hermione's brown eyes and Gryffindor tie, but matching her own yellow Hufflepuff robes.

Neither spoke for a moment, until: "So, I reckon _you're_ Paige? Paige Eldridge?"

The girl, Paige, nodded. "Do I…know you?"

"No, you don't, and I don't know you either. But I ran into your friend Jepson a while ago. He was looking for you."

Paige blinked. "Was he?"

"Yes, and he also mistook me for you, and I'm beginning to see why," said Hermione, regarding Paige's dumbfounded, awestruck expression carefully. "Oh, I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger." She stuck her hand out for the Hufflepuff to shake, and Paige did so, to her satisfaction.

"Hermione? Why… _exactly_ …do we look like each other? And why've I never seen you 'round here before?"

The Gryffindor took a deep breath, weighing her options in her mind, then answering, "I'm not at all sure, but I can tell you one thing: I'm not supposed to be here."

"Well, yeah—I can see that, Hermione," said Paige, looking a bit blurry in the eyes as she frowned.

"No, I mean I'm not supposed to be _here_ , in this time." At Paige's blank look, Hermione elaborated. "I'm not from this time; I'm from the future—the year 1995, to be exact."

The redhead's eyes widened. "Then just _how_ in Merlin's name are you here?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know, and I don't know if I can get back."

* * *

A/N: I'm feeling iffy right now on if I should continue this or not-see, I began this while I was high and emotionally-strung off the Orphan Black season 3 finale this June, and after I came across this amazing photoshop/coloring thingy by ChameleonCosplay on deviantart called "Hermione: The Houses Four." The idea just clicked in my mind, and so I spit this out onto paper. Since it's been a few months, the original excitement and passion I've had for this story has fallen asleep. Not died, mind you, but fallen asleep. If I do continue this, I'm certain I'll be looking for a beta for beta-y stuff such as British lingo (which I tried my hardest to incorporate here!), if any of y'all are interested. Thanks to my niece for probably being the most excited person about my story and even offering to "make the prettiest computer picture" for the book cover. Love you!

But all in all, thank you, dear reader, for taking time to give this piece of work even a glance. YOU'RE AMAZING! :D


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